Summer in the North


"Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit."
from The Waste Land, T. S. Eliot

Summer, that's a hard facer
in this tropical heartland's North
where the Padma's once-wild flow slugs
a spineless python dragging its dull

burden into the Bay of Bengal,
where dust's long maddening wait
for a little moisture seldom ends
or withered trees' branching out

in green again hardly happens.
Anyway, look over there
a dry man in a dry month slouching
past North's thirsty pleading;

(in his heart, dormant geysers
awaiting their burst into the open)
but still his past peeps through
the skin of a hard-pressed

custodian of drought scenes,
once a connoisseur of Kalidasa's
fabulous The Cloud-Messenger, the hard-
cover with feelings of monsoon

not even lost in translation,
and of his artistry in Sanskrit
so steady in his Aryan elevation,
he is on the lookout again

for harbinger-clouds crowding
neat as his beloved's tuft of dark hair,
and for sprinkling summer rain-
drops like womanly cool caresses

on his sweating figure. Oh, it's
clouds that gather, and soon disperse,
leaving his hurting mouth sun-
dried for long odd weeks ahead.




Poetry by Sofiul Azam
Read 665 times
Written on 2005-10-07 at 15:59

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chasingtheday The PoetBay support member heart!
arr summer - something i do not know too well really due to my place in the world, here the rain dominates, which is great by me. life giving water.
2005-10-17


Zoya Zaidi
I don't know! There is something so nice about this text...May be the familiar diction... It kind of makes me sad, yet happy!
2005-10-07